


Offline

by thescienceofsherlolly



Series: Sherlollicious [38]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, IT BETTER FUCKING WORK THIS TIME, Online Relationship, Sherlock is smitten, gratuitous toweled sherlock, molly is in love, second upload
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 12:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12653169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescienceofsherlolly/pseuds/thescienceofsherlolly
Summary: Molly Hooper is in love. The problem? She's never even met him...





	Offline

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sherlokid7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlokid7/gifts).



> right, second time lucky. thanks to @sherlokid7 over on tumblr for the meeting online au prompt. here we go...
> 
> tumblr link (in case it doesn't work): http://thescienceofsherlolly.tumblr.com/post/166654224074/omg-i-cant-decide-so-pick-the-one-that-calls-to

It’s not working, Tom,” Molly said from her position on what was formerly their shared bed, hugging her knees to her chest, “we both know that. We’re just delaying the inevitable.”

Tom ignored her, continuing to throw his things into his bag, not that he had much – some spare clothes, a toothbrush, maybe a comb? He had grown to love his girlfriend’s home more than his own, even if her cat didn’t share his enthusiasm. He packed slowly, determined to drag this out for as long as he could, until she changed her mind. This wasn’t her mind, he was sure of it. Her friends had gotten into her head, talked her out of it.

“Tom?”

He smiled triumphantly; he nearly always turned out to be correct.

“Can I have the key back?”

Tom dug the key from his pocket and, in a moment of outrage, threw it against the wall which caused Toby to flee in panic. He zipped up his bag and stormed out, vowing to never waste another moment thinking about her. Molly waited for the front door to slam behind her ex before breathing a sigh of relief and throwing away her covers, reaching for the laptop beside her. She flipped the lid, her fingers speedily opening her messenger icon. A new message awaited her and Molly settled comfortably against her pillows.

**Consulting_DetectiveSH**

_How did it go?_

Molly breathed deeply, pondering her words carefully; oh, her internet chum knew all about her relationship troubles and had been reluctantly dishing out advice ever since they’d accidentally met in a chatroom some four months ago. He’d been looking for someone to help with work, she to vent; between them, they’d come to an odd sort of friendship. Not many people would be very accepting of others who wanted to share crime scene photos and autopsy reports. Molly later learned to her amusement he’d asked at least five other people before finding her, resulting in his suspension from other sites.

Molly flexed her fingers, choosing to be honest with him.

**MHooper**

_About as well as you can expect. He left, which is something._

Molly watched the screen, noticing the ‘offline’ display beside his handle; she debated closing her laptop and returning to the conversation later. Only seconds later, offline switched to online and a new message followed.

**Consulting_DetectiveSH**

_I suppose I’m wasting my time telling you you’re better off without him._

Molly smiled sadly, already typing her reply.

**MHooper**

_It doesn’t really matter. I always do this. I ruin every relationship I ever have. Just you wait._

Molly stared at the last three words, chewing her lip as she argued whether or not to send the message. She didn’t want him to take it the wrong way, scare him off.

_Incoming Skype call…_

Molly froze, her eyes wide as saucers; her heart hammered as she fluffed her hair into place, hitting accept. The familiar bedroom of SH’s flat appeared on the screen, the man himself sitting on his bed. The room was dark, his face illuminated by the lamplight on his bedside table making his sharp cheekbones stand out. Molly much preferred typing their conversations, he was so stunningly gorgeous, she always ended up humiliating herself when they spoke face to face. She swallowed.

“Hi…”

“Hello.”

Oh, his voice was heavenly. So deep. This is exactly what she hated, he was so distracting. Molly forced herself to focus, smiling shyly.

“I-I suppose I should thank you. For the advice about Tom,” she clarified when he frowned in confusion, “I mean, I don’t even know your name and you know me better than anyone I know.”

He shrugged, “you don’t have to be a detective to see he wasn’t right for you. You said yourself you weren’t happy. I can’t take all the credit.”

He was speaking in such a hushed tone, Molly fiddled for her sound dial, “I think something’s wrong with my laptop, I can barely hear you.”

“My nosy flatmate refused to go out,” he explained, gesturing somewhere offscreen, “I’d rather avoid the questions.”

“Oh, right…” Molly often forgot there were other people in the world when they talked.

He smiled, “me too.”

Molly blushed madly – oh, god, she’d said that aloud? Eager to change the subject (and hoping he hadn’t noticed her embarrassment), Molly smirked cheekily, “figured out what the M stands for yet?”

He always rose to the challenge, “you could be lying to me, Marissa.”

“Nope,” Molly said, shaking her head exaggeratedly. She only enjoying this slightly…okay, immensely. SH didn’t seem so sure, a frown appearing at his brow.

“Mildred? Maisie? Margery?”

Molly giggled, “no wonder you don’t have much of a reputation, Mr. Detective.”

“You don’t know MY name!” He pouted indignantly.

“I don’t claim to be the world’s only consulting detective.”

To her surprise, he smirked. There was a moment in which they simply watched each other, until SH folded his arms.

“I could easily deduce it,” he looked positively smug and Molly had to admit it was a good look on him, “the phone book, contact your work. It wouldn’t take long.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” She said with her own smug smirk; she knew the mystery was part of the thrill for him. Their discussions about his cases had told her as much, “anyway, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Don’t I get to guess your name?” Molly raised an eyebrow, taking the opportunity to tease him slightly, “I bet it’s something utterly ridiculous and pretentious. Spencer. It’s probably Spencer…” she said, gesturing at the screen; judging by the look on his face, SH wasn’t impressed. Oh, she was far from finished, “or Stanley. I can see you as a Salvatore. Satchel…Satchel Hewett, am I close?”

“Satchel?” He actually looked offended, “that- that’s not even a name! I-I have a website.”

Molly couldn’t stop herself from giggling, “if you’re Satchel then I’m Mildred. We could travel the country solving crimes.”

He fell silent for a moment, simply watching her chuckle to herself. That preposterous idea didn’t sound at all unpleasant to the pathologist; he’d made no secret that he was in need of someone to assist him with his investigations. No one agreed to work with him at his current establishment. When she’d finally collected herself, she looked up to find him smiling softly at her. A split second later, the look was gone and he cleared his throat.

“I have to go.”

Before she could reply, Molly’s screen went black. She blinked, staring at the blank screen in confusion. SH was often abrupt and insistent, even downright rude but he never cut their conversations short. Many nights they’d spent talking only to discover early morning light creeping in through the windows; they’d laugh about it and vow to chat the following day. This was definitely unusual behaviour. Unless it was the nosy flatmate. Several minutes after he’d cut off, Molly decided she’d wasted enough time worrying; she shoved her laptop under her bed and switched off her lamp. He’d have a good reason. He always had a good reason.

* * *

It had been two weeks since she’d last heard from SH and Molly was quite frankly fed up with him. He’d disappeared before, no longer than a few days at a time, always with a short message of explanation. There had been nothing this time; she’d sent the odd message asking how he was and that she hoped to hear from him soon. Nothing. So she gave up. She knew he didn’t owe her anything; nevertheless, it still stung. Despite everything, Molly thought he was one of her best friends, someone she could confide in and she thought the feeling was mutual. Perhaps she’d put him off, perhaps he’d lost interest, maybe he’d gotten everything out of their friendship and no longer needed her. Whatever the reason, Molly made up her mind not to think about him any longer.

Four drinks in at her local bar, however, her mind disobeyed her. Had she offended him? They’d been trying to guess each other’s names since they’d met, why would it bother him now? Molly chewed her nail, desperately trying to think what it was she could have said or done.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Molly looked up into the kindly eyes of a short, blond and not at all bad looking gentleman; he was smiling and siting one stool over from her, giving her space yet showing her he was available for company. Molly sighed, swirling the remaining liquid in her wine glass.

“You don’t want to know.” The man moved over a seat and Molly smiled humourlessly, “where do I start? I recently split up with my boyfriend because I think I’m in love with someone else. Here’s the thing…I’ve only know him for four months, I don’t know his name or where he lives, and he’s quite possibly a psychopath,” she screwed up her face in thought, “can you be in love with someone without even knowing their name?” If the man was shocked by her confessions, he didn’t show it; in fact, he looked quite sympathetic. Great, just what she needed pity from a complete stranger. Molly swallowed the last of her wine, shaking her head, “I’m sorry…I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.  You don’t want to know.”

“I’m a good listener…” he said, extending his hand politely, “John Watson.”

“Molly Hooper,” she smiled shyly, taking his hand.

“Can I get you a drink, Molly Hooper?”

Molly sighed in relief, “where have you been all night, John Watson.”

* * *

Molly couldn’t quite believe what was happening. She was in a cab, on the way to John Watson’s flat at 221B Baker Street; she’d insisted on staying for one drink before catching a cab home, cheekily telling him he’d need to work harder than that. John had laughed, hugging her tightly against him; he seemed nice, not at all like a serial killer. It didn’t take long to get to his flat; he paid the driver swiftly and helped her out of the cab, leading her upstairs to his flat. John cursed at the mess, rushing around tidying up the various stacks of papers.

“Sorry about this,” he was saying, stowing the case files, maps and various other rubbish under the sofa cushion before whirling to his date, “my flatmate. He’s a bit of a tosser.”

“No, it’s nice,” she said, examining the odd crime wall above the sofa; a huge map of London was spread out with photos and notes pinned around it. They obviously meant something to John’s flatmate, “it’s different. Is that a Cluedo board?”

She’d moved to the fireplace, pointing out the item in particular. John, who was rummaging in the fridge for a bottle of wine, groaned.

“Don’t ask…I learned my lesson the hard way,” he soon gave up searching for wine in the fridge and began searching the cupboards, “I’m sure I had a bottle here somewhere.”

The bathroom door opened, then, and none other than SH emerged, wearing nothing but a towel as he rubbed at his hair with another. Molly’s mouth fell open as she laid eyes on him, his face…absolutely his face. He, too, froze, staring at her. Molly wanted nothing more than the Earth to swallow her whole there and then.

“Oh, I thought you were out.”

SH didn’t look at John as he replied, still shocked, “um, I-I was.”

“For God’s sake, can you put some clothes on? We have company,” John strode to her side, shooting his friend a disgusted look. The way he held Molly’s waist with such familiarity made the frown of SH’s forehead deepen, “I’m sorry about this. I’ll go ask Mrs. Hudson. Excuse me…”

As soon as John left, Molly and SH continued to stare at each other, as if in disbelief that the other was actually there; it all made perfect sense. The Cluedo board, the case map, the mess, the nosy flatmate. This was exactly her luck.

“I, um…John was being nice,” she said stupidly, at a loss for anything else to say. He shrugged.

“It’s a free country. You can shag who you like.”

Molly folded her arms protectively, “who said anything about shagging anyone?”

“Why are you here?”

“Why were you ignoring me?” She demanded, an eyebrow raised in challenge as she stepped closer, “I thought it was my fault. But you were just being a dick.”

SH sighed in annoyance, “I’ve…been thinking about how best to tell you I love you.”

Of all the things Molly had been expecting him to say, that was the last thing on the list. She opened and closed her mouth, at a loss for words; what did she say to that? The feeling was mutual, completely, but that didn’t change the fact he’d dismissed her and she was now here with someone else. John returned promptly, gesturing a bottle of red.

“Found some…” he glanced at Sherlock, frowning, “do you mind?”

“Apologies…I’ll go and get dressed,” his eyes lingered on Molly’s for a final moment before he disappeared into the furthest bedroom; Molly couldn’t help but notice he had a very appealing body to match his face.

By the time John had poured their glasses, Sherlock had re-joined them wearing a pair of tatty old pyjamas; he sat in his chair and proceeded to pout. John gestured between them.

“Sorry, you two haven’t been properly introduced. Molly, this is my flatmate, Sherlock Holmes,” if John noted the looks they were giving each other, he didn’t let on, “Sherlock, Molly Hooper. She’s a pathologist at St. John’s.”

“Told you it was pretentious,” Molly said smugly, sipping at her wine. Sherlock’s pout deepened if that was at all possible. Several moments of awkward silence passed until Sherlock jumped out of his chair.

“John, a word in the kitchen,” the army doctor frowned but followed his lanky friend until they were out of earshot from Molly. He paced in front of the sink, struggling to find his words…which worried John.

“What’s the matter with you? You’ve been acting strangely since Molly got here.”

“That’s M.”

“M?” John glanced over at Molly, watching as she studied the skull on the mantlepiece with a slight smile on her face. He turned back to Sherlock, confused, “you mean your…”

Sherlock nodded and John looked back at Molly; she was clearly fascinated checking out the items on display. His violin soon caught her eye and she was clearly mesmerised, delicately stroking the varnished wood. John knew a lost cause when he saw one. Sighing heavily, he screwed the lid onto the wine bottle he still held and shoved it at his flatmate.

“Don’t fuck this up.”

Again, Sherlock nodded, smiling gratefully. He watched as John stepped back into the living room, yawning loudly and declaring he was calling it a night; he gave Molly a hug goodnight and discreetly winked at his flatmate as he departed for his bedroom.

“Molly…” he tested the name on his lips, deciding he liked it very much. He was at her side, pouring her a glass; she couldn’t take her eyes off him. Before, he was a screen name she could vent to. Now he was a person with a name and her heart.

Molly smiled, sipping her wine, “you never told me you played the violin.”

“Really?” He frowned, recalling their conversations in his head. Apparently, he hadn’t mentioned that detail, “hmm, well, in that case…I should play for you sometime.”

He held his glass out and Molly clinked hers against his, unable to tear her gaze away from his, “I’d love that very much…Sherlock.”


End file.
